


Your Own Worst

by tanyart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Self-cest, cisgender swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka Four Times Altair and Malik had a Literal Fight with Themselves, And the One Thing They Agreed On Right After</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Own Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day! I apologize for the fic being hugely unedited. I really thought I wasn’t going to be able to finish it on time, ahah.

** ONE **

The new rafiq was due to arrive sometime within the day according to Altair’s sources, and he told Malik as much while they sat together by the fountain and idly snacked on dried fruit. The bureau was quiet, the kind of boring lull that threatened to make them restless if they waited too long. Normally, Altair would have used more discretion and restraint, but after a while he found himself lounging amongst the cushions with his head pillowed over Malik’s chest and suddenly less inclined to move. Malik seemed to think the same thing, keeping still as he read the newer missives his successor would soon be in charge of.  
  
“Mm, no more, Altair,” Malik said as Altair poked a piece of fruit against lips, but he opened his mouth and took it anyway. “At this rate, the whole bag will be-“  
  
Altair waved the empty bag in the air, rolling over to face Malik with a smirk.  
  
“-gone.” Malik frowned. His knee made its way to Altair’s stomach and there wasn’t a single hint of mercy in it.  
  
The resulting tussle had little to do with anger or lust. They kept their laughter down to short gasps and unconcealed grins, not really knowing why they were trying to keep silent, but Altair guessed that it was another ingrained habit they both possessed.  
  
It was a fortunate habit. Altair had Malik pinned to the ground when he heard a noise from the inner room, something that sounded like chuckling, though it was too faint to have come from either of them. Judging from Malik’s alert expression, he had heard it as well. Altair eased off the other man, turning to the entrance way.  
  
There wasn’t anyone at the counter as far as he could see, but a more careful glance showed him the off-golden glow of a definite presence in the adjacent room. He nodded at Malik, who had gotten to his knees and had a throwing knife in his hand. They both knew the new rafiq could have only gotten in through the rooftop, and Altair was sure that they hadn’t been wholly compromised by their roughhousing to let anyone drop in without being seen.  
  
He supposed that he was going to have to ask the intruder himself then.  
  
Since there wasn’t much sense in stealth in such close quarters, Altair simply got up and stood at the entranceway. Malik was at his side, a little more wary, and they peered in.  
  
Only to be met with the sharp stare of a single woman standing behind the counter, elbow against the table and cheek resting in the cup of her hand. She was wearing the dark blue robe of dai, which was strange enough, but Altair’s gaze fell to her strikingly familiar face, unable to place a name on it until he saw that the left side of her sleeve was pinned up.  
  
“You must be the new rafiq,” she said, rising up from her relaxed posture. Her eyes were narrowed, perhaps at odds with being in a dim room and needing to look into the bright waiting chamber to look at them. When neither Altair nor Malik moved, her tone became impatient. “Safety and peace, brothers, but don’t just stand there if you mean to come in.”  
  
They did, more out of bewildered confusion than anything else.  
  
“I think there has been a mistake,” Malik began, stepping past Altair. He must have not seen the woman fully, and when he got a proper look, he paused.  
  
“Well, I can’t imagine what that would be,” she replied, looking a bit unsettled herself but was perhaps holding on to the last scrap of rationality before the inevitable dawning realization of the situation. “Unless you’ve traveled to the wrong bureau, or your name isn’t-“  
  
“ _Malik_ ,” a voice interrupted from the other side of the room. All three of them turned, though Altair and Malik were quicker about it.  
  
It was another woman, this time dressed in the white garb of a master assassin, seated at the chess table. In her hand was a lesser pawn, dangling between her forefinger and thumb, as if she was in the middle of placing it down but was frozen on the spot.  
  
Altair stared. She held no color when he checked his Vision – not an enemy, an ally, or a target – but what was more unnerving was that she was studying him in the exact same way, eyes hazy and mouth drawn tight from the shadow of her hood. Her mouth was scarred, same as his, and he watched her stand, striding towards them.  
  
“It appears some explanations are in order,” she said, looking pointedly from Altair to Malik. Her companion was also doing the same.  
  
“From _us_?” Malik asked, sounding a shade incredulous.  
  
It was, perhaps, an inauspicious start to their bizarre encounter but there was, of course, no better proof that they were each other’s counterparts than to start off with an argument.  
  
  
 **TWO**  
  
It should have been no surprise to Malik when both Altairs got along quite marvelously after their initial posturing and biting remarks. She had watched their wary assessment of each other, the circling and the unashamed comments and inquiries about each other’s bodies. There was genuine curiosity in there as well, mixed along with blatant narcissism or whatever it was that made them unafraid to poke and prod at themselves. A part of Malik was relieved that they hadn’t stripped away their clothes yet and was more content with quietly testing each other about past events, taking on a competitive tone when they went into the most trivial and mundane questioning.  
  
“My favorite short blade?” the male Altair would ask.  
  
And Altair would roll her eyes, gesturing to the butcher’s knife at her hip, then asked in the same querulous tone, “Do you bind?”  
  
“Bind _what_?” His eyes fell to her admittedly slim chest before lifting back up. “ _No_.”  
  
“Ah, same,” she replied solemnly. And since they had the same awful sense of humor, the two of them fell into silent laughter.  
  
Meanwhile, Malik’s own counterpart had gone silent, also looking at whichever Altair caught his attention. They spent considerably less time gawking over each other, most likely concluded that there was nothing of interest that wasn’t already obvious.  
  
Still, it was unnerving to have a direct, if not biologically accurate, mirror of herself. Since she was looking for it, his every absent habit came to light – the twitch of his mouth every time he tried to hide a smile, the constant defensive sarcasm, the tiny aborted movements of his left arm, how they have still yet to fully adjust to their disability – it was quite annoying as it was fascinating, knowing that she was also in possession of those same traits.  
  
There were differences, too, though they were more physical than mental.  Malik supposed it would make sense to crop her hair short as a man, instead of wearing it as a plait down her back, and that she would be more curvier to match the his solid stature.  
  
“I am curious, though,” her counterpart said, finally addressing her. He studied her for a moment. “The name Altair can go either way, but how did you end up with a man’s name? Or is it considered the normal standard from whatever you came from?”  
  
Malik raised an eyebrow, knowing that her counterpart still firmly believed that it was the _women_ intruding on whatever cross-dimension this happened to be. As for herself, Malik was of the opinion that it was obvious the men were confused, since _they_ had been the ones to enter the main chamber in the first place.  
  
“It is not,” she said, glowering, knowing where this was headed and not liking it one bit. “My given name is Malika; Malik is a nickname, but-”  
  
“Then I propose that we forego your nickname for the time being,” he said, cutting her off with all the finesse of a dull blade. “To avoid confusion.”  
  
“No,” she said, dismissing the notion with a wave of her hand. “Malik is every bit as much my name as it is yours. Besides, it will not be that much of a hassle to-”  
  
“Malik!”  
  
“ _What?_ ” they both answered, consequently proving her wrong, much to her irritation.  
  
They looked to the other side of the room to find the Altairs with their elbows braced against the chess table, hands clasped in a test of what looked like evenly matched strength.  
  
“Oh, ah,” Altair said eloquently, looking from Malik to Malik. She shut her mouth.  
  
“We hadn’t realized you two were fighting,” the other one said, and they quickly went back to their game.  
  
  
 **THREE**  
  
Though they hadn’t said anything yet, Altair was acutely conscious of her counterpart’s weaknesses. For now, she was perfectly content to let sleeping dragons lie on top of their hoard of self-loathing, doubts, and a similar multitude of other downtrodden thoughts she saw reflected in her male self. From the occasional moments of rueful silence and self-depreciating barbs, it didn’t go unacknowledged, only unspoken – and if they were truly equivalents of each other, then it was obvious that they were both trying to overcome such things.  
  
Besides, there was hardly any time for Altair to do anything but watch as both Maliks shouted at each other. Clearly, Altair’s inner dislike for herself didn’t hold a candle to Malik’s apparent self-inflicted frustration.  
  
It started out as amusing, watching Malik fight with – technically – _herself_ , and Altair, along with her equally amused counterpart, sat behind the table, listening to the exchange.  
  
After a few minutes of relentless yelling, she started to become a little fearful for everyone’s safety.  
  
“They’ll be at one other for days,” her male counterpart whispered into her ear.  
  
“What? Do you want to stop them?” Altair hissed back. “Be my guest.”  
  
To his credit, he threw her a look that spoke for the both of them.  
  
With that settled, they sat back, comfortable enough to lean against each other – or perhaps still daring themselves to be as invasive as possible. Altair wasn’t sure which, but took comfort in knowing that her male half probably didn’t know either.  
  
“Haven’t you been listening?” Malik was seething, her hand curled into a fist. The two _dai_ hadn’t quite hit each other yet, after Altair had casually asked aloud if there would be a twin transfer of pain before the argument had festered into a fight. “We never left the bureau!”  
  
“Neither have we!” said her counterpart, his voice rising to match her indignant note, though at a lower register Altair found curiously odd. The man lifted a finger, stabbing it in Malik’s direction. “You are _infuriating_.”  
  
“ _You_ are insufferable!” Malik shot back, seemingly too, well, infuriated to say anything else.  
  
Altair snorted, unable to help herself. It would have gone unnoticed from the other side of the room, but she hadn’t counted on her counterpart doing the same thing, producing a well heard and ill-timed scoff that seemed to be louder than what it really was.  
  
A horrible silence fell over the room.  
  
For once both Malik and her male equivalent seemed to have put aside their differences (or similarities) in favor of rounding both their cumulative anger on Altair.  
  
“What do you think is so funny?”  
  
“If you have anything to add then, please, say it.”  
  
“ _Either_ of you,” they both finished with an alarming amount of synchronicity.  
  
Altair winced, and felt her double do the same.  
  
  
 **FOUR**  
  
Malik was, by all accounts, still furious with the woman standing in front of him. He could understand that, at times, he _did_ become a little insufferable, but only when warranted and wholly correct, and certainly not when there was some kind of overlapping alternate universal crisis at hand.  
  
Truth be told, arguing with himself was exhausting. No wonder Altair was sometimes quick to ignore him.  
  
And while he would have liked to think that he and his female version were in every way equal, she _did_ have the advantage of being a woman. Much to his immense irritation, Malik found that he balked when considering whether or not he would enjoy punching her in the face. But at the rate they were going, probably enjoy. With a great amount of satisfaction.  
  
She seemed to realize this as well, and he had to admire her for her restraint; if she hit him, he would either pull his blow or not hit back, so there was no point. His admiration was short lived, however, as she took full advantage of his reluctance to push her aside, crowding him into the corner.  
  
By the time they heard the soft laugh from the chess table, he had his back against the wall, her arm brushing against his waist as they turned.  
  
“Only I – I mean, _we_ – think that it’s pointless to fight,” Altair said, putting his hands up. He looked to his female self and she gamely stepped in.  
  
“Yes, I dislike my counterpart as well,” she said, nodding, “He _is_ me, after all. But if I could put up with him, then I’m sure you two could-“  
“Now wait,” Altair said, whirring her around.  
  
“I wasn’t finished. You interrupted,” she began, scowling.  
  
And Malik could have smacked himself on the forehead, listening to both Altairs argue. And he did, except for that his female counterpart was the one who took it upon herself of doing it for him.  
  
“Really?” he hissed, grabbing her by the hand.  
  
“You looked like you were in need of a concussion,” she said evenly.  
  
And he never thought himself as very charming or playful, whatever sex he might be, but Malik was beginning to see that he did, apparently, have his moments – which could explain why sometimes Altair would kiss him after sparring or wrestling or even a heated argument.  
  
What’s worst was that he could tell she was having the same line of thought.  
  
Before either of them could protest or begin to contemplate how strange it was going to be, Malik bent his head and pressed his mouth against hers. He was met with more force than resistance, angling to the side, knowing where he liked to be bitten and licked. He felt her moan into the kiss before she also employed the same methods on him, leaving him out of breath and flushed.  
  
“Interesting,” he heard her murmur into his ear, and pressed against him, letting her hand rub slow, tiny circles at his side. He squirmed, furtively attempting to hide his smile. “And what do we have over there?”  
  
She motioned to the other side of the room and Malik saw that their little experiment hadn’t gone unnoticed.  
  
“An audience,” Malik mused, putting a thumb to her mouth, watching her tongue dart out to taste it.  
  
“Or would you two rather participate with us?” she called out, and echoed his laughter as both Altairs scrambled towards them to join them.  
  
  
 ****

* * *

  
  
“So I was correct,” Malik said, looking into the empty fountain chamber. ”They were the ones intruding.”  
  
She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, grumbling over the thought of having to braid it all over again. She should have said something before, but it turned out that male Altair was just as skilled with his hands as her own Altair, who was still flopped over the cushions in a smug daze.  
  
“They are gone?” Altair asked, blinking slowly. She got to her feet, loose robes pooling at her ankles before she huffed and pulled them back up. “I thought they were only washing up.”  
  
“Well, it’s been quiet for some time and I doubt they would have left without saying anything,” Malik said, shrugging. She inspected the room, finding that nothing had changed or even suggested that their two counterparts had bathed.  
  
“I thought they, you know, fell asleep,” Altair said with a smirk. She followed behind Malik, carefully winding her hand around Malik’s hair.  
  
“I thought so as well,” Malik laughed. “I believe victory was ours.”  
  
“Finally,” sighed Altair, pulling her close. “Something we agree on.”

 


End file.
